A Treasure Worth Seeking

by Sandra Brown

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hello, Aunt Reba. This is Erin. Is Mother there?”

  “Erin! We were just talking about you. Are you back in Houston?”

  “No. I’m calling from San Francisco.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you. Your mother is dying to talk to you. Good-bye, dear.”

  The funeral would take place in an hour, but Erin needed to talk to her mother so desperately that she took the time to place the long distance call.

  Yesterday had been the grimmest day Erin had ever spent in her life. Melanie had decided not to delay Ken’s funeral. It was planned for four o’clock in the afternoon, barely allowing time for all the preparations to be made. The decision was a wise one, Erin thought. The sooner Melanie could restore her life to some semblance of normalcy, the better.

  “Hello, Erin.” Merle O’Shea’s cheerful voice was like a balm on Erin’s wounded spirit.

  “Mother, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. But more to the point, how are you? You sound unhappy.”

  That was all the encouragement Erin needed. The whole story came gushing out amid a torrent of tears. She began with her arrival on Ken Lyman’s doorstep and ended with the funeral taking place that afternoon. She sobbed brokenly into the telephone.

  “Oh, my darling girl, I’m so sorry for you. I can’t even imagine how horrible this has all been. Especially when you were looking so forward to finding and meeting your brother.” Erin heard her mother’s voice crack. As always, when Erin was hurt, so was her adoptive mother. Erin hadn’t grown in her womb, but she had certainly grown in her heart.

  “Is there something I can do? Would you like for me to come to San Francisco?”

  That would be a supreme sacrifice. Merle O’Shea was terrified of flying. “No, Mother. It’s helped so much just to talk to you. Really, I’ll be fine. I have to be for Melanie’s sake.”

  “She sounds like such a sweet girl.”

  “She is. We really feel like sisters.”

  Her mother stumbled over her next question. “Erin, did—I mean did you find any information about your—real mother?”

  Erin smiled into the receiver. Her mother couldn’t help a little spark of maternal jealousy. “No, Mother, I didn’t.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for destroying those records they gave me at the orphanage before I even read them. When Gerald and I got you, I was so thrilled and so selfishly possessive of you—”

  “Mother, please. We’ve been through this a thousand times. At the time, you felt that you were doing the right thing for me. Besides, I’m not sure I want to know anything more now. I don’t think I could stand another disappointment.”

  Each of them was lost in thought for a moment before Merle asked, “This Mr. Barrett, is he nice? I hope he’s not some insensitive tough guy.”

  Erin had deliberately refrained from any mention of her personal involvement with Lance Barrett. Was he nice? “Yes, he’s nice, I suppose, though he’s handled everything very professionally. I wouldn’t call him insensitive.”

  Her mother seemed satisfied with her answer. “Good. You have that to be thankful for.”

  “Yes.”

  “When are you coming home, Erin? I’ll feel so much better when you’re back in Houston. You won’t seem so far away.”

  Erin sighed. She hadn’t made any plans to go home, though she knew now that she must. “I don’t know, Mother,” she answered honestly. “I want to make sure that Melanie is going to be all right. Within a few days for sure. I’ll let you know.”

  “Please do.” Merle paused for a long moment; then she said, “Erin, I know how much this meant to you. If I could spare you this heartache, I would. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Sometimes things happen in our lives for which there isn’t an explanation. I hope this hasn’t lessened your faith that God takes care of you.”

  “No. I need that faith now more than ever.”

  “You’ll be in my prayers. I love you, Erin.”

  “I love you, too. Good-bye, Mother.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Erin replaced the receiver, hating to break that communicating thread with the loving woman who had given her life, if not birth.

  Listlessly, she returned to the guest bedroom to finish dressing for the funeral. In Houston, she had packed a simple Halston dress of black wool jersey to wear to dinner should the occasion arise. Now she was wearing it to a funeral. Black textured hose and black suede pumps completed her outfit. Her only adornments were a pair of pearl studs in her ears and a strand of pearls around her neck.

  Erin looked good in black and wore it often. It complemented her dark hair and eyes and her fair complexion. But Melanie wasn’t so fortunate. The black dress she had borrowed from Charlotte Winslow wrapped around her like a shroud. Her fair hair was still peeled away from her face in a severe style. The black dress made her wan complexion look even more sallow. Her eyes, which Erin had seen sparkle with childlike excitement, were lackluster and vacant.

  It was a strange cortege that proceeded from the house to the chapel in the cemetery. Erin and Melanie rode in the somber limousine provided by the funeral director. They were accompanied by Melanie’s parents, who appeared annoyed by the whole affair. Disparagingly, Erin wondered if the funeral had conflicted with a bridge tournament or a golf game and inconvenienced Melanie’s parents.

  Lance, Mike, and Clark followed at a sedate pace in their unmarked government car.

  Melanie seemed to have cried herself dry last night before boarding the airplane. After landing, when Erin and Lance had roused her, she had remained composed, if somewhat aloof. She withstood the funeral service stoically.

  A grief she hadn’t experienced since the death of Gerald O’Shea washed over Erin as she looked at the unpretentious coffin covered with the spray of copper chrysanthemums that contained her brother’s body.

  She had come so close to knowing and loving him. So close, and yet she would never see him alive. Never hear his voice. Never enjoy the nuances of his personality. Had she entered his life a few days earlier, could her appearance have altered the course he had taken? Would her existence have made a difference in his life?

  During the funeral service, she performed much like Melanie. She was vague and disoriented, mired down in a miasma of despair.

  It was almost dark by the time they returned to the Lyman residence. Erin went upstairs with Melanie and left her at the door of her room. Before she did anything else, Erin wanted to take off the black dress. She doubted she would ever wear it again.

  She put on the old jeans she had worn her first night in the house and a comfortable sweater. She brushed her hair and repaired her face, which had been marred by streaking makeup. Feeling somewhat better, she decided that, even though she wasn’t hungry, she should eat some of the food that friends and neighbors had brought to the house. She was still having some residual weakness from her illness and hadn’t eaten properly in the last three days.

  At the bottom of the stairs she stood awestruck as she saw Melanie coming down the steps carrying two suitcases.

  “Melanie, what—”

  “Erin, this is probably the rudest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I’ve got to leave you here.”

  Erin was stunned by her calm announcement. “Bu—but where are you going? Why?”

  “Did you hear my parents?”

  It would have been hard not to, Erin wanted to say. The Winslows had accompanied their daughter home from the funeral and immediately upon entering the house had started railing at her to come home with them. They had caused quite a scene, embarrassing the young widow.

  “I told them that I wanted to spend the night in my own house, especially since you would still be here. But I promised that tomorrow I would move back home.” Melanie’s lips formed a resolute straight line. “That’s a promise I have no
intention of keeping. They’ve ruined my life, not to mention Ken’s. I’m not giving them the opportunity to go on controlling me.”

  Erin glanced around in desperation and saw Lance standing behind her. He was listening to Melanie’s declaration. “But where will you go tonight?” Erin asked, grasping at straws.

  “I don’t know,” Melanie shrugged with disinterest. “I really don’t care. Just away from here. From them.” She sighed sadly. “I really don’t want to sell the house just now, but I can’t stay here and be subjected to their constant badgering. Do you understand?”

  It was a plea for assurance. In spite of her misgivings about the advisability of Melanie’s plans, Erin said, “Of course I understand.”

  “Thank you, Erin. I knew you would. I’m leaving a letter for my parents on the entrance hall table. Please give it to them when they come for me tomorrow.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No. I’ll contact you soon. I wrote down your address and telephone number in Houston. I hate to run out on a guest like this, but it’s something I have to do.”

  Erin smiled. “I’m not a guest. I’m family.”

  “Is there anything you need, Mrs. Lyman? Do you have any money?” Lance asked quietly from behind Erin. He endorsed Melanie’s leaving.

  “Yes. I have a personal account. I hate to give you any more responsibility, Mr. Barrett, but when you have cleared out all your equipment, would you leave the key to the house with the next door neighbor? She’s expecting it. She agreed to look after things for me until I come back.”

  “It’s done,” he stated firmly.

  Impulsively, Melanie walked toward him. The next instant she was enclosed in his arms. “Thank you for being so nice about everything,” Erin heard her mumble into his shirt front. “I know you did everything you possibly could to find Ken and bring him back. You would have dealt with him justly.”

  Lance squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “I wouldn’t have had it happen like this for anything in the world, Mrs. Lyman.” Melanie withdrew to the door, then turned to face them.

  “In a way I’m glad that Ken didn’t have to go to prison or suffer any more indignities. He had been unhappy for a long time. In his letter to me,” she touched her breast where Erin guessed the unmailed missive was secreted, “he says he was looking for acceptance. I think he took the money to get the world’s attention as though saying, ‘I’m alive. Here I am, Kenneth Lyman.’ I’m no philosopher or psychologist, but I see his motives so clearly now. And I know he loved me, despite everything.”

  Out of the mouths of babes, Erin thought, and tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks as she clasped this dear sister-in-law to her one more time. She and Lance stood by the front door as Melanie backed her car out of the garage and, with a poignant wave, drove off into the night.

  “Do you think she’ll be all right, Lance?” Erin asked anxiously.

  “Far better than she’s been,” he murmured, and Erin found comfort in his simple words. “Here,” he said, looking at her with an amused grin. “Let me wipe your face.” He extracted a white handkerchief from his hip pocket and blotted her tears. “How long has it been since you had a decent meal?”

  “I can’t remember,” she laughed.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said grimly. “You’re getting skinny.” As if to show her, he placed his hands on her ribs and steered her in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s enough food in here for an army, and we’ll have to throw it away in the morning. So let’s dig in.”

  While she was filling her plate in the kitchen, he went into the living room and picked up the red telephone. “Mike, tell the boys to take a break and come eat some of this food.”

  He was tieless and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows when he walked back into the kitchen. “You haven’t got enough,” he said, inspecting her plate like a schoolmaster. Over her protests, he added another piece of cold fried chicken and a scoop of potato salad.

  “I’ll get fat,” she wailed as he continued to pile food onto her plate.

  He grinned that open, friendly, teasing smile that was so rare, but so captivating. “Not a chance. Besides, I know a couple of places that could stand some plumping out.” His eyes dropped meaningfully to her breasts.

  “I—” she opened her mouth to rebuke his audacity, but the back door swung open and his men trooped in. She recognized only Mike and Clark, but there were three others. She was certain they had seen her and knew that they had overheard her conversation with Bart. She blushed as Lance introduced them.

  They were all uptight, overly polite, and far too quiet. Erin finally figured out that their obsequious manner was in deference to her. There had been a funeral today and each of them was all too aware of the circumstances. For her own sake as well as theirs, she set about to alleviate the gloom.

  She began asking them polite questions and before long they were responding to her openly without first darting a permission-seeking look at Lance. Then they began to contribute to the dialogue, and by the time they left, there had even been some spontaneous laughter.

  Erin gathered up the used paper plates and disposable utensils and stuffed them in a plastic trash bag. Lance insisted on helping her wash out the containers of food. After his crew was finished, not too much had been wasted.

  “I guess I’ll have to take these dishes over to the neighbor in the morning. She can return them to their owners.”

  “I guess so,” Erin said as she wiped off the counter top with a damp sponge. She didn’t want to ask, but had to. “When will you be leaving?”

  Lance didn’t answer for a while. He was inordinately busy twisting a tie around the top of the garbage bag and placing it near the back door to be taken out in the morning. “We’re shaking down all our stuff tonight. I have a few loose ends to tie up. If not tomorrow, probably the next day. You?”

  Erin looked away. She took off the apron she had put around her waist and hung it on a peg in the pantry. “I don’t know. I was planning to stay a few days with Melanie, but now…” Her voice trailed off to nothing.

  When she turned around, he was standing close to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently massaged the tense cords of her neck. “You’re exhausted,” he whispered solicitously. “I’ve got to gather up some papers in the living room. I’ll lock up when I leave. You go on upstairs.”

  It was a dismissal. She hadn’t really known what to expect from him, but she thought it would have been more than a good night one would have given a kid sister.

  Just as she reached the door going into the hallway, he said, “Erin?” Her heart thudded with joy, and she whirled around to face him. He wasn’t even looking at her. Instead he was staring out the window. “Yes?” Lance, turn around! her heart screamed.

  “If you need anything during the night, pick up the red telephone. We won’t disconnect it until the morning.”

  That was it? That was all he had to say?

  “Okay,” she responded despondently and trudged up the stairs.

  She got ready for bed mechanically, taking no interest in what she was doing. When she climbed between the sheets, the bed, the room, the house felt as cold and empty as her heart.

  It all makes sense, Erin, she chided herself. After all, what had she expected? He was on a job. Tomorrow that job would be completed. He would go back to Washington and await his next assignment. Erin O’Shea would probably be mentioned in the dossier he would turn in, and sometimes in the future he might fondly recall her, but he would soon forget their shared passion. His memory of her face would wane.

  He had found her mildly amusing during a difficult case. She provided a diversion from the pressures that went with his job.

  But how could he dismiss her so summarily? Didn’t he even remember what had happened in this room? This bed? The very walls of the small room seemed to echo the garbled, frantic words he had rasped in her ear. To her they had sounded like a love song.

  Foolish! Stupid!
she berated herself.

  Yet she could still hear him. “Oh, sweet… You’re ready… Perfect, perfect… You feel… Erin, I’ll wait… Erin… Erin… Erin…”

  * * *

  It was very late when she woke up, probably after midnight. The house was still and quiet, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. After straightening the covers, using the bathroom, and tossing her head on the pillow for a few restless minutes, she decided that she needed a drink of cold water.

  Getting out of bed once again, she slipped on a robe, but didn’t bother with slippers. Without turning on any lights, she crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she gasped.

  The house was on fire!

  For a panic-stricken moment, her hand clasped the top of her robe at her throat. Her heart was racing. But as the seconds ticked by, she realized that she was wrong. She didn’t smell any smoke and the fire was localized in the paneled study.

  On trembling knees, she walked down the dark hallway and looked in the room. There were no lights on, but a fire was burning brightly in the grate of the fireplace, unused until now.

  Puzzled, she stepped across the threshold and then came to an abrupt halt. Lance was sprawled in the chair he had slept in once before. An empty glass was held in his dangling hand. A bottle of brandy was on the table at his elbow.

  Cautiously she moved farther into the room. He was sleeping soundly. She smiled tenderly to see his eyeglasses resting on the top of his head. His tousled hair shone golden in the firelight.

  On silent feet she tiptoed closer, studying his face in repose. Her heart swelled with love. Love? Yes! She loved him. And it was gloriously right and painfully wrong. For a million reasons, it was wrong, but at that moment, her reasonable mind’s objections were overshadowed, consumed, obliterated by the love that suffused her.

  Hoping not to awaken him, she reached out her hand and picked the glasses off his head. He didn’t stir. She set them on the table. His hair was springy and alive as the firelight danced on it. The temptation to touch it was too potent to resist.